


The Natural Order of Things

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both know it's not supposed to go like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Natural Order of Things

Jim doesn't know what he expects. Not gratitude, certainly—Hikaru is far too complex for a reaction as simple as that. Jim's learned to expect surprises, odd as that might seem, yet he still jolts in his chair when Hikaru bursts into his ready room, shoulders tense and hands flat as they slap down on his desk. Hikaru's breath is a near hiss that escapes through his teeth.

"Tell me why," Hikaru demands. "Right fucking now."

They're both technically on duty but Jim can tell there's nothing official about this. Still, he tries for decorum.

"Lieutenant, is there—"

"Don't 'Lieutenant' me, _Captain_." Hikaru leans in closer, his voice lowered to a deadly calm that belies the storm in his eyes. "You're trying to get rid of me. Is that it?"

"Jesus, Hikaru." He orders the doors locked and coded. "Fuck. No. God, it's not… You really think I would?"

It's brief, but Hikaru's heavy gaze wavers slightly. Jim's chin drops in response. He knows it's not supposed to be like this. They've talked about it, late at night in Jim's quarters, legs finding their way through a jungle of sheets to wind around each other. Hikaru's elegant hand sloping down Jim's back, Jim's fingers caught in the thick brush of Hikaru's hair, mussed and shiny at the end of a long day. He knows they're supposed to stay together for as long as they're able. If they offer Hikaru a ship when he's forty and Jim's forty-four, they'll deal with that then.

Right now, Jim forces himself to look up into the cloudy eyes of the first captain of the _U.S.S. Excelsior_. Hikaru is twenty-nine.

"They said you recommended me." Hikaru's fingers curl against the glass of the desk, leaving small streaks that quickly disappear. Jim watches the labored rise and fall of his chest. "Why would you do that? Why me? You could pick _anyone_ —"

"Because you're the best," Jim says, his voice flat. "And you're ready."

"I'm _not_ ready! This isn't how things are supposed to go. This isn't part of the fucking plan, Jim!"

Jim almost laughs. As if any of this is part of the plan—Jim sitting in the captain's chair every day, the tears they still sometimes shed over their lost friends, the laughter that rings out from overcrowded tables in the mess hall during dinner hours. Jim's hands on Hikaru's shimmering, lithe body every night, because they're alive and they want it. By all rights, Jim should be following someone else's orders right now, dreaming of the day he ascends to captaincy. There should be a whole flock of worthy candidates for the _Excelsior_ position, older and wiser and more experienced. Jim and Hikaru and Spock and Bones and everyone—they should be dead like all the rest.

Jim looks away from the curve of Hikaru's bottom lip and down at his hands, crowded together atop the cool surface of his PADD.

"They need someone," he whispers. "They asked me for the best and I told them. I gave them a name. Don't talk to me like it was easy. Just...don't talk to me at all. If that's what you think."

He waits for Hikaru to spit fire at him, to reach across the desk and hit him. But Hikaru does nothing; his head hung low between his arms as he leans against the glass. Jim rises carefully from his chair and rounds the desk, urging Hikaru to crouch down with him, sit on the floor. As always, Hikaru follows Jim's lead. They sit with their backs to the front of the desk, legs huddled to their chest. Jim looks over and tries to study the peculiar sight before him. He's always seen the future in Hikaru's eyes; he doesn't know how to look for something else.

"I don't want to go," Hikaru finally whispers. Jim nods, his throat tight.

"If you don't want to, you don't have to."

The half-smiles they exchange are convincing, Jim has to admit. Hikaru tips his head gingerly against Jim's shoulder. Jim shuts his eyes and looks forward to sleep, Hikaru warm and solid beside him, when he'll dream, as he has for years now, of the way things unfold in another world.


End file.
